


The Sky is Falling

by karrenia_rune



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Episode Tag, Gen, Prompt Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-10
Updated: 2017-04-10
Packaged: 2018-10-17 01:24:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,313
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10583511
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/karrenia_rune/pseuds/karrenia_rune





	

Title: The Sky is Falling  
Fandom: Supernatural (tv)  
Author: karrenia (Karen)  
Characters: Sam and Dean Winchester  
Rating:Teen  
Recipient: pbfate, previously filled request:  
here: http://community.livejournal.com/fic_on_demand/969765.html

Day 6 of the June Challenge

Disclaimer: Supernatural is the creation of Tim Kripke and the CW; it is not mine. Notes: The story references events from the episode "Folsom Prison Blues." and is a slight takeoff from events in the above episode in the sense that Sam has a mild case of amnesia.

"The Sky is Falling" by Karen

Dean helped Sam stagger away from the prison yard, shaking his own head in both rueful commiseration and amusement at the clunk on the head that Sam had received from the big burly inmate's wild and ill-timed roundhouse swing.

Sam had been right about thing, coming in here had been a bad idea from the get-go, still, Dean thought, 'We made a promise to an old friend of Dad's and Winchesters never go back on a promise to a friend.'

Back in the cell that Dean shared with another inmate, he wondered how Sammy was holding in solitary confinement. 

They had agreed to both keep an eye out for whatever spectral, paranormal, or just plain outright weird signs that might indicate the presence of the very angry spirit that had been offing inmates for  
almost the past twenty-five years.

Elswhere, Sam sat in the narrow cell across from another inmate, separated from each other by a thick concrete wall, but they could talk to each other through a narrow metal grille that would be just about head high was to stand upright in his own cell. 

Sam felt muzzy and light-headed and the growing lump on his temple might have had something to do with the sensation of being loose-limbed. The problem, Sam, decided, as he could not readily remember either  
how he got the egg-sized lump on his forehead or how he had then ended up here.

Sam figured he should be worried, but when the screaming began in the next cell over Sam, instincts kicking and his own worry over his situation, took second place, and he leaped to his feet and ran over to the metal grille in the wall.

"What the hell is going on in there?" Sam yelled.

The only response was the screaming and a chill seeping into his own cell from the neighboring one, along with mingled grunts and groans from the big prisoner. 

His memories may have been a bit hazy at the moment but Sam knew when he saw someone in the throes of mortal agony. He fumbled around in the pockets of his orange prison coveralls for something with which help or shouting for help. However, his voice was oddly muffled when he began shouting for the guards who were slow in coming.

"I, I can't breathe," Sam gasped but struggled through the chill, suffocating air to reach the barred door to his own cell, before whatever had taken hold of the other man, reached with cold insubstantial figures for  
his own chest. Sam spun around to face whatever it was that threatened him and recoiled as if shot.

The thing was female and spectral, and it definitely had his number.

Sam could not quite remember why, but figure his motor reflexes and instincts knew what to do because he came up with a handful of a gritty rocky powder and threw it directly into thing's face.

It screamed and threw back its head before it vanished.

Sam breathed a sigh a relief and had begun to slink to the floor in weary exhaustion before he heard a very familiar voice, accompanied by the sounds of two pair of boots approaching his cell.

"Sammy, don't worry, I'm coming," one of the voices said.

The other one, an older man's voice said: "Let's just hope we're not too late."

The voice Sam recognized belonged to a young well-built young man whose appearance was also very familiar, and for some reason reassuring and annoying at the same time. However, at this point any familiar face and help were welcome. Sam stood up and waited expectantly for the door to open.

Dean glanced in at his brother through the bars of the cell, before he shook his head, thrust the keys into the lock and threw back the door. "Come on, time's a wasting, and I don't know how much longer  
we keep the guards off our backs."

"I'm coming," Sam nodded and stepped out of the cell and into the adjoining corridors. "Where are we  
going?"

"Huh?" Dean replied, looking at him in a funny way," Don't you remember, we get you out, provide a distraction, and then get access to the warden office. We figure whatever information they've got our  
the ghost that's been killing prisoners around here, has gotta be there."

"Sounds like a plan," Sam nodded. "Oh, one more thing. It's too late for that other bastard that was locked up in there with me." he gestured at the adjoining cell with a hooked thumb of his right hand.  
"He's dead."

"I know," Dean replied. "Let's go."

"Right behind you." Sam nodded.

"Yeah, I'm happy that you agree," remarked Dean as he began leading the way down the looping and intersecting corridors with Sam in tow. 

Later inside the Warden's office Dean had Sam going through the records while he checked out the surveillance cameras to be sure that they still had a window with which to work off before Sam announced that he thought he found something. "Somebody's got serious anger management issues. 

A nurse that used to work here back in the 70's was killed in a riot."

"Figure it's our gal, ghost, whatever, you know what I mean?" replied Dean nonchalantly whistling an off-key tune under his breath while he typed away at the computer. 

"What tune is that, the one you've been whistling?" Sam asked, momentarily distracted.

"Huh? Nothing, whistling just helps me relax, why?"

"It sounds like something out of the Wizard of Oz," remarked Sam.

"Damn it, Sammy," Dean muttered. "I outgrew stuff like that when you were a baby, please don't start with me, okay?" And don't expect to start in with guessing when the flying monkeys are due, okay?"

"Actually, I thought you were channeling Chicken Little, and the sky is falling," Sam replied.

"Yeah, whatever, man. Let's keep moving."

Sam nodded, this was familiar territory if the rest of his long-term memories were pretty much shot at this point. However, there was something about this irritable but fond gruffness that was very familiar as was any discussion of ghosts. 

For some reason, that was funny, not funny ha-ha, but funny ironic. "So where do we go from here?"

"The old infirmary, ghosts typically like to return to somewhere familiar or significant they had while they were alive," Dean replied. "If she's anywhere, that's where we'll find here. Let's go."

Dean again led the way, only this time he darted hopefully unnoticed glances at his brother off and on in the time it took them to traverse the corridors and the floors down the old infirmary. Sam was acting, well, not like himself and the bump on his head was rapidly healing, so that couldn't be the reason. 

In the immediate danger to come, they could not afford for either of them to be at anything less than optimal focus, for Sam to be strolling along alert, but not really all there, that was a worry that was buggering at the back of Dean's mind, trying to get out. 

'Sam, what the hell is going on with you, and why do I feel like I should be doing something about it." Dean thought and shoved it into another corner of his mind and they moved on to the next phase of the plan.


End file.
